‘parting of the Red Sea’ effect on the crowds. They opened to allow him through, and then closed again, forcing her to fight her way through.
Marcus had now reached the exit, where he was being approached by two pretty girls wearing the uniforms of a certain car rental firm. Was it a car they were hoping to persuade him to hire, or a date they were hoping to be offered? Lucy wondered jealously as she finally caught up with him.
‘I was just explaining to these ladies that the hotel will have sent a car to collect us,’ he told Lucy.
‘The hotel? What hotel?’ Lucy demanded as he started to walk towards the waiting chauffeurs with their boards displaying clients’ names. ‘I thought we were staying with Beatrice.’
‘Did you? The villa’s quite small and remote, and since Beatrice is there to oversee some remedial work on the bathrooms I didn’t think it was a good idea for us to expect her to put us up. I’ve booked us into a hotel instead. It’s in Deia, very close to the Residencia, and supposed to be even better. And don’t worry about the bill. I shall be paying it. Ah, there’s our driver.’
If she stood on her tiptoes, she could just about see the smartly uniformed chauffeur holding up a placard that read ‘Hotel Boutique, Deia’.
Lucy knew Majorca quite well, since it had recently become very much one of the ‘in’ places to stay, following on from various celebs buying property in an exclusive enclave of villas and boutique hotels that had sprung up on a previously undeveloped part of the island’s coastline. The Residencia had been the place to stay in this upmarket resort, and from what she had heard the new Hotel Boutique was even more special. Lucy had heard rave reviews from clients who had stayed there.
Outside the airport, the warmth of the night air wrapped round her like soft cashmere as the chauffeur opened the doors of a large Mercedes limousine for them.
Marcus slid into the sea next to her and the chauffeur closed the doors.
‘Where exactly is Beatrice’s villa?’ she asked Marcus uncertainly as the Mercedes joined the queue of traffic waiting to leave the airport.
‘Up in the hills outside Palma.’
‘But that’s a long way from Deia,’ Lucy objected. ‘Wouldn’t it have been better for us to have stayed somewhere closer?’
‘The Boutique has an excellent reputation, and I thought you’d prefer to stay there.’
‘How long will it take us to get there?’ Lucy asked.
‘Not that long. Why?’
‘I need another caffeine fix. I’m desperate for cup of coffee.’
And he was desperate for her, Marcus found himself thinking. ‘Do you want me to ask the driver to stop somewhere?’
Lucy shook her head. ‘No, I’ll wait.’
She was beginning to feel tired, and more than a little bit headachy, but despite the comfort of the Mercedes she couldn’t relax properly—not with Marcus right there next to her.
The road climbed and turned, winding through the hills, and then started to drop down again. Below them Lucy could see the lights of villas, dotted either side of the river ravine, and below them the small harbour itself. Pure, perfect picture-postcard stuff.
The Mercedes turned in to a narrow stone tunnel beyond which lay a paved forecourt. Within seconds, or so it seemed, they were standing in the jasmine-scented coolness of the foyer, a huge fan whirring above their heads, traditional terracotta tiles underfoot, and the décor echoing the very best of traditional Majorcan interiors. The white walls were warmed by striking paintings and woven rugs in rich earthy colours.
‘If you will follow José, he will show you to your suites.’ The receptionist smiled as she handed Marcus two key cards, and a very young and very handsome young Majorcan appeared from out of nowhere to assist them.
The lift was tucked away discreetly in a corner, and as it bore them upwards José told them proudly, ‘You have the best suites in the whole hotel. The King of Spain himself, he has stayed there with his family.’
The lift stopped and José held the doors open, giving Lucy a small bow as he encouraged her to step through ahead of him.
A short, wide corridor lay in front of her, its walls painted white and hung with more paintings. Lucy was tempted to linger and inspect them more closely, drawn by the richness of the oil paint, but her head was pounding and she was desperate for coffee.
Only two doors opened off the corridor. José stopped at the first of them and opened the door, inviting Lucy to step inside.
As she did so, her eyes widened in appreciation. In front of her was a large room with a high ceiling, furnished with traditional dark, heavy wooden furniture which included a huge four-poster bed. Floor-to-ceiling wooden shutters filled one wall, and when José went to open them for her Lucy gasped in delight. The shutters concealed glass patio doors beyond which was a well-lit private terrace, complete with its own plunge pool, and beyond that an uninterrupted view of the sea and sky.
‘Thank you, José. I’ll find my own way around everything.’ Lucy smiled and tipped him so that he could leave and show Marcus to his suite.
As soon as she had closed the door behind Jose, Lucy picked up the telephone and hurriedly dialled Room Service. Only when she had ordered her much-needed coffee did she start to study the suite properly.
A wooden screen that could be folded back separated the bedroom from an integral, sensually luxurious huge round bath, set into the floor right in front of the patio windows so that one might lie in the bath and look out across the terrace and beyond it.
The wall opposite the patio doors was completely mirrored, as was the wall at right angles to it, and set against the right angle was an all-glass shower cubicle, so that in effect one could bathe or shower and see one’s reflection in the mirrors at the same time.
She heard a knock on her bedroom door. Her coffee! Wonderful! But when she went to open the door it was Marcus who was standing outside it.
‘I’ve brought you this,’ he told her, handing her a card key. ‘I’m going to ring Beatrice in a minute, and fix up a meeting with her for tomorrow, but so far as dinner tonight is concerned, there’s supposed to be an excellent restaurant down by the harbour. It’s eight now, so if I book a table for ten…?’
‘Yes. Fine,’ Lucy agreed, exhaling in relief as she saw the waiter coming down the corridor.
Ten minutes later, with her caffeine levels replenished, Lucy explored the rest of her suite.
In addition to her open plan bedroom-cum-bathroom, she also had a self-contained dressing room and a second bathroom, with another shower plus bidet and lavatory.
She would have to change before she went out for dinner. A shower would be speedier, but she just couldn’t resist the temptation to wallow self-indulgently in the bath.
Lucy lay soaking in the bubble-topped silky warm water of her bath, luxuriating in the sensuality of the experience. She had left her shutters open, so that she could enjoy the view out to sea should she feel energetic enough to lift her head off the bath pillow. Instead, though, she opened her eyes and looked towards the mirrored wall. There was something irresistibly sensual about the combination of a huge bath and a mirror in which one could see oneself using it. This was definitely a suite for lovers.
Lovers. There was only one man she wanted as her lover. Only one man she had ever wanted, full stop. And that man was Marcus.
Marcus.
Was his suite the same as her own? Was he right now lazing in a tub of hot water, his body naked beneath the suds? A shiver of sensual pleasure iced through her own inner heat, as pleasurable as ice-cream melted by hot chocolate sauce—only a thousand times more so.
But she suspected that Marcus was more likely to prefer a fierce shower to a lazy linger in a bath. And he still hadn’t said a word about last night.
Lucy closed her eyes and stroked the soapy water over her skin, imagining that it was still last night and that Marcus was here with her, touching her, stroking her. A wet heat that had nothing at all to do with the water flooded her sex. This was
getting dangerous. But she couldn’t resist the temptation to lie there and fantasise, to imagine and remember. She closed her eyes…
She had almost fallen asleep in the bath! And look at the time! It was gone nine o’clock. Reaching for the plug, Lucy stepped up out of the bath and reached for one of the deliciously thick, fluffy towels. The mirror threw back her reflection—white soap bubbles slithering silkily down her body, covering her sex and then revealing it. She could feel the hot beat of her own desire as it pulsed out its hungry message. Her fingers touched her own body, stroking the foam from the swell of her mound and then moving lower. She watched her own movements in the mirrors, unable to look away. Her heart had started to race, a fierce wanton urgency filling her. Slowly and delicately, her tongue-tip pressed to her teeth, Lucy ran an experimental finger along her mound and pressed lightly against her clitoris.
Marcus…Immediately her flesh swelled and glistened richly, her heart pumping…
Somewhere outside the intensity of her concentration she heard a noise that sounded like a door opening…
A door opening! Immediately she removed her hand and reached for a towel, her face burning with self-conscious heat as she realised that Marcus was standing in her bedroom.
How long had he been there? How much had he seen? Behind him she could see what must be a connecting door between the two suites. He must have knocked, but she had obviously been too preoccupied to hear him. Her face burned with the knowledge of what she had so nearly been preoccupied with!
‘How much longer is it going to take you to get ready?’ he asked her. ‘Only it’s nearly nine-thirty now.’
He, Lucy recognised dizzily, was already changed, wearing a pair of light-coloured chinos with a darker-coloured top.
‘I’m virtually there,’ she replied, and then blushed vividly as she realised just what connotation could be placed on her comment, and how appropriate it had almost been. She did not dare look at Marcus as she almost scurried past him and into her dressing room.